


Lovely

by ohgodmyeyes



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Anakin Skywalker is Hot, Awkward Romance, F/M, Fluff, Miscommunication, One Night Stands, One Shot, Reader-Insert, Romance, So Go Ahead and Hug Him, Wholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22087063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohgodmyeyes/pseuds/ohgodmyeyes
Summary: You meet a very handsome man on your way home from a night out. Aside from being attractive, he’s also kind and interesting— so, you bring him back to your apartment to get to know him a little better.In the morning, however, you find that he seems to have hidden something from you... and this new revelation sends your time together a bit off-course.Who is this guy, anyway?
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker/Reader
Comments: 25
Kudos: 122





	Lovely

You pulled your eyes open to pretty beams of fresh daylight sneaking into your bedroom from underneath a set of drawn curtains. It was cool outside, and although the window was closed, a slight draught jostled the drapes. You didn’t know what time it was, but you also didn’t think it mattered much— it was a holiday; for you anyway, and you didn’t have anywhere in particular you needed to be. 

It was nice not to have to work, or do anything else.

You had been anticipating this present lack of obligation for weeks, and it was the primary reason you’d felt emboldened to take the chance you had the night before. It was why you found, as you woke, that there was a faint throbbing in your head, the aftertaste of liquor in your mouth, and— perhaps most unusual of all— an unfamiliar form occupying the other half of your bed. 

Sitting up about half-way, you propped yourself up on your elbows. You looked first at the narrow shafts of light from the morning sun; squinted a bit. Then, you glanced down at the tousled halo of blonde which seemed to be bathing in that light— it was poking out from under your blanket, and attached to the figure you only barely recognized.

It had been very late the night before, when you picked him up. He had been standing outside the bar at which you’d both been drinking; you’d bumped into him as you exited. It had been nearly closing time, by then. Although you were tipsy and had been having a decent time, you hadn’t gone out that evening expecting to meet anyone— and if you did meet someone, you certainly had not intended on dragging them home with you.

Here you were, though— and that was because you could not ever have anticipated meeting someone like _him_.

He had been kind; gracious— you had quite literally _bumped_ into him, and he had accepted your profuse apologies without a hint of annoyance. He had also been tall, which you liked, and nearly imposing in his obvious strength: Even covered by the long, black sleeves of the dress shirt he’d been wearing when you first looked him over, his arms had stood out to you immediately for their size and formidability. His chest, too, had called your attention— you even knew what it felt like right away, since you had hit it with your face. In the state you were in, it had taken everything in you not to place your hands on him as you told him you were sorry.

By the time you had looked up at his face, you were already intrigued by his body, and it would not have taken much to impress you further. However, the smile he flashed as you continued to apologize to him nearly made you gape, and that was when you had offered your name.

He’d offered his, too— and it suited him very well, in its handsome uniqueness: _Anakin_.

You had made small-talk with him, mostly so you could keep on looking at him, at first. However, you quickly discovered that between his voice and his general demeanour, Anakin was not someone you wanted to part ways with sooner than you had to: You found yourself offering to walk with him to the train (everyone took the train downtown), and then you found yourself _on_ the train with him, somehow headed in the direction of your apartment. (Had you needed to convince him, or he you...?)

You didn’t remember clearly, this morning, what you had talked about during your ride... but whatever it was, it had made you both smile— a lot. You couldn’t see his face, now that he was tucked into your bed: Just that lovely golden mop of mid-length hair; the hair which you _did_ remember brushing out of his face at one point on the trip home. He had laughed when you’d done that; his laugh was even more charming than his grin.

He’d been sweet; almost shy— or at least, more shy than you would have expected for someone of his size and strength. He hadn’t given off an air of conceit; almost the opposite, in fact, despite his attractiveness. You were used to men like him being a bit too overbearing, but Anakin was not that: He had simply been nice to be with, the entire time.

When you had reached the front door to your building, he even waited (somewhat awkwardly) for an invitation to come upstairs with you. Once you offered it, he seemed to relax; had actually opened and held the door for you, like a gentleman: You thought they didn’t make those anymore.

After heading upstairs and entering your apartment, you had offered him a drink, even though you’d both almost certainly already had enough that night. He’d accepted it, you had joined him, and from that point, your memory was a bit fuzzy. The exceptions to that haziness, of course, being the the jolting solidity of his muscles, the silky softness of his hair between your fingers, and the utterly satisfying stretch of him finally burying himself inside of you, as you concluded your adventure together.

That was how you’d ended up here, laying in bed next to him, realizing that you didn’t actually know the first thing about him. You also discovered as you thought about it, though, that he was beautiful enough for you not to really care.

He was still asleep, so you slipped quietly out of bed and made your way to the bathroom. You wanted a chance to smooth your hair down, at least, before he saw you in full daylight. His clothes, mixed with yours, were tossed into a pile in the hallway, and they reminded you of the urgency with which you’d undressed one another the night before. You recalled something else, too, as you looked atop the small chest of drawers you kept just outside the door to your washroom— it jarred you, but only briefly. You nearly laughed aloud when you remembered, because you almost couldn’t believe you’d forgotten, if only briefly:

Anakin happened to be missing a significant portion of his right arm, and had left what looked to be a rather advanced prosthesis resting in your hallway. 

You continued on into the washroom; cleaned yourself up a bit. On your way out, you couldn’t help but take a closer look at his artificial hand and forearm— even for a second, how could you not have remembered that? He _had_ explicitly told you, now that you thought about it: When you’d begun to get a little closer; a little more drunk. You hadn’t entirely believed him, so he had taken off the glove he used to hide and protect its fingers; shown them to you. You remembered being surprised, and impressed too— but frankly, you had been more interested in getting his shirt off of him than his glove, at that point.

By the time he’d shed the arm itself, you were too excited to be thrown-off by something so petty as an absent limb, and anyway: It certainly hadn’t impacted his aptitude, as far as physical intimacy was concerned.

Now that you thought about it, he’d been a bit hesitant, at first— but by the time the two of you were situated on your bed, kissing and stroking and leaning into one another... well, by then, he had taken control of your encounter in the best possible sense, and had seemed utterly confident to you. There wasn’t much you’d have taken note of, by then, outside of the pleasure you were taking in him.

You smiled at this thought as you leaned in to look at the intricacies of his hand— you’d never seen anything like it; at least, not by itself. It was silver and black, and you knew that it moved when it was attached to him by its sleeve, but you didn’t know how. The palm was hard and shiny; the fingers complex, thin, and rigid. It was in your examination of these extremities that your breath caught in your throat and your stomach knotted up in fresh nervousness.

On the ring finger of Anakin’s prosthetic hand— held fast by a thin strip of rubber— rested a shiny, golden wedding band.

It would have been hidden by his glove... until he’d taken that off, anyway. That was likely why he had the ring on his right hand in the first place, as opposed to his left: He had known his glove would hide it from women like you, during his time out. You had checked his left hand as soon as you had begun talking to him; had thought yourself in the clear, as far as his marital status was concerned. How had you not noticed his ring when he took off his glove, though...?

 _He was in the middle of letting you know he doesn’t have a right hand; why would you have noticed him wearing jewellery on its replacement?_

At this thought, you became annoyed— he’d likely counted on you not noticing it, you suspected. That, or he had such little regard for the wife he was betraying that he hadn’t remembered to hide her existence from you beyond switching his ring to the wrong hand, and tucking it under some leather. Either way, you were upset, now. You felt betrayed, angry on behalf of his spouse, and, finally, disappointed: He’d seemed so nice, and you had been hoping to speak to him again after today, depending on how waking up with him went.

The idea of calling him later, though, was suddenly the very last thing on your mind.

You considered briefly; decided to leave his arm where it was, because he could find it easily enough himself on his way out. He would know very well what you were talking about, anyway, without you waving it in his face. After retrieving an oversized t-shirt from the bathroom to cover yourself with, you took a breath, turned toward your room, and marched into it. You found your mysterious (and deceptive, you now firmly believed) stranger sitting up in your bed. You tried very hard not to be distracted by his appearance: Prior to seeing his ring, you would have been pleased to notice that he was equally as handsome to you presently as he had been in last night's inebriation. Now, though, his beauty irritated you: You had to ignore it, and you did not want to do that.

However, he was clearly married. His being so lovely was no longer any of your business, now that you knew he was already committed.

_Why did he have to be so nice...?_

It didn't matter. 

"Hey," you started.

"Hey," he answered with that smile of his; that captivating grin which you now wished didn't make your knees weak. His lower half was still tucked under your sheet, but as he stretched his arm above his head, he gifted you an incredible view of his chest and stomach. Forget nice— why did he have to be so smooth, so broad, and so _tight_?

Again, it didn't matter. You started again, "I noticed something just now, you know."

"Hm?" He seemed perfectly happy. _Jerk._

"You left something in my hallway."

"Huh? Oh!" He laughed, perhaps a bit nervously, but then he smiled coyly and retorted, "Was I so good you forgot I was missing a part?"

That would have been cute ten minutes ago, you lamented, before saying to him rather harshly, "Not your arm— I'm talking about what you wear on your hand."

"My glove...?" He seemed confused, then began, "I know it's leather; if you're vegan or something, I—"

"I'm not vegan!" You shouted this, because he was so good at playing dumb that it was making you angry. He flinched, but you continued, "Your ring! It's a wedding ring! _You're married,_ " you finished, almost pleadingly. You just wanted him to tell you the truth; once he did, you wanted him to get out of your home.

"My...?" He trailed off; looked down at where his hand would have been, if he'd been wearing his arm. "...Oh." After a brief pause, he said very quietly, "It's really not what you think."

You still thought he was lying, so your words continued to come sharply, "I think you wear a wedding ring, and I also think that means you shouldn't be here." 

He almost seemed to shrink into himself; gripped the end of what remained of his right arm with his left hand. To you, he looked guilty. Haltingly, “I... it's really not— I'm..."

You interrupted, "Are you married?" 

"Ye— well, no...” He sighed; seemed to want to leave, but not to want to rise from the bed to retrieve his clothes within view of you, now. 

This, coupled with his mixed answer to your question, only further convinced you of his culpability. "Whatever," you muttered as you turned to go to the kitchen. "I'm going to make coffee; your clothes are in the hallway," you added, to encourage him to get moving.

You could hear him start to shuffle about as you stood in the kitchen and set up the percolator. Your anger was turning back into disappointment again, and although you didn't know Anakin well, it stung. _I guess they don't actually make real gentlemen anymore,_ you thought to yourself. Then, _but if they did, they wouldn't follow you home just to get laid. What kind of guy did you think you were getting?_ As you watched fresh coffee begin to drip into the pot, you began to just feel stupid. Even if you never had ended up seeing him again, you were especially disinterested in sex with married men: You felt as though you'd been tricked, all else aside. 

“I’m sorry,” you heard him begin again, as he appeared at the end of the hallway. You’d just begun to think he was taking a bit too long to leave. You looked up; he was wearing his pants and his arm, but he was still holding his shirt in his hand. 

“Save it for your wife,” you said as coolly as you could, as you waited for there to be enough coffee to pour into a mug. You really didn’t want to look at him; although it was difficult not to, you avoided peering directly at his face.

This was likely why the sound he made at your remark came as such a surprise to you: It was quiet, but it tied a different kind of knot in your stomach; one unlike that which had been left by your still-lingering sense of betrayal. 

It sounded like a sniffle, as from a person who’d been crying.

You did look to his face, at this, even though you still didn’t feel much like doing so. He was only a few feet away from you by now, standing just outside the entrance to the kitchen— the redness in his eyes was obvious to you; so was the glassy sheen of fresh tears building up inside of them.

You were about to reiterate that if he felt so terrible about this, he should go home and talk about it with the person he was actually married to. However, when he knew he’d caught your eye with his, he narrowed his watery gaze and almost spat at you, “ _She’s dead._ ”

What? “...Dead...?” He couldn’t possibly have been more than twenty-five, you thought. You hadn’t expected him to be married in the first place, partly because he had seemed young, like you. Now he was telling you his wife was dead? Was he lying? He certainly didn’t seem like it, but...

“Dead,” he confirmed. “I wasn’t hiding my ring from you, I was hiding it from myself. She’s been dead for a year. I didn’t even want to— I mean, this wasn’t—” He paused; rubbed his eyes with his hand. When he continued, he did so much more quietly, “—I’m having a hard time, lately, alright? I don’t want to look at the damn thing, but... well...” He sighed. “...I can’t take it off, either...” Hence, you realized, his having slipped it onto the wrong hand, underneath a glove.

He had started to sound shaky, so you stopped him with a much more gentle, “Hey.”

He began to put on his shirt. “I’m going, okay?” He’d wiped the tears from his eyes; they were still red, but he’d hardened his expression.

“No, stop.” You believed him, now, and it was beginning to make you feel terrible. “She’s really...?”

“Yes. Really.” He sounded terse, and much farther away, now. You regretted being so hard on him.

“I couldn’t have known—”

He interrupted this time, “—I didn’t think I had to tell you my life’s story in exchange for a quick fuck.”

You winced, now. You certainly hadn’t expected him to say something like that, but he was clearly hurt. “You didn’t, I just...” You sighed; shifted, and looked at the coffee. “...I was angry, because I _knew_ you were too nice to be that kind of guy, and...”

He laughed. “I’m not cheating on my wife— but I’m also not that nice.”

“I think you’re—”

“Stop. I’ll go.” He began, slowly, to button up his shirt.

“Anakin...”

He looked surprised you had remembered his name, and that you’d used it. He stopped buttoning; asked you, “...What?”

You didn’t actually know what to say, so you tried, “...Will you just stay for a coffee? I... well, I had a great time last night, and...” You struggled; managed, “...I really don’t want you to leave like this.” You didn’t. You caught one another’s gaze again; his eyes seemed to soften. You hoped yours had, too. He was quiet, so you added, “I’m sorry,” and stepped closer to him.

He began to back away, but appeared to stop himself deliberately. Then, tentatively, he said, “...I had fun, too.”

“So...” Closer to him now, you had to look up to see his face. He really was captivating, even in his anxiety and apparent grief— which you had wrongly mistaken for guilt. You knew you couldn’t, but you wanted to make it up to him. “...You’ll stay, then? For coffee? You don’t have to, but...” You shrugged; trailed off.

He had stopped seeming angry, but he now looked nervous; nearly shy. You felt awful for how you’d spoken to him. Finally, he answered softly, “Sure.” As you motioned for him to step into the kitchen with you, he continued in the same tone of voice, “I’m sorry, too— for what I said.”

“It’s okay,” you told him, as you got a set of mugs down from the cupboard and placed them on the counter. It really was okay. “What do you want in your coffee?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“Nothing?”

“I like it black,” he clarified, as he looked like he might smile again.

You did smile, now. “I wish I’d bought better coffee, then,” you chuckled.

That heart-melting grin of his again, finally— and he laughed, too, to your relief. You handed him a mug. As you turned to retrieve milk from the fridge to pour into your own coffee, he thanked you. Then he added, “It’s perfect,” and drank some of what you’d given him as if to prove it to you.

 _See? Look how nice you are,_ was what you’d have liked to say. Instead, as you put the milk back and stood to face him, you were quiet. You let your eyes take in the sight of him in his partially-buttoned shirt: It had, all of a sudden, seemed to become acceptable to admire him this way again, so you did.

After you became certain he had noticed your staring, you looked down at the floor, forcibly breaking the hold he had on you so that you could speak. “You want to sit?” You motioned to a small table situated in the corner of your kitchen.

He nodded; followed your lead. As you both sat down opposite one another, he warned, “I can’t stay too long...”

You asked him, “Work?”

He smiled; looked past you, and out the kitchen window instead. “Kids.”

More than one? “Kids?”

“Two of them,” and he sipped his coffee.

Wow. There was a lot more to Anakin than you could have anticipated, you thought. 

Cautiously, because you didn’t want to dig too deeply (although you did want to express that you were interested in him, because you definitely were), you asked his childrens’ names.

He told you, and you complimented them. Then, you simply talked with him for a while in your kitchen as the morning light became brighter. He spoke to you a little about his kids; a bit about his job. He didn’t say another word about his wife, and you didn’t ask— you felt fortunate that he still wanted to wake up with you at all, after having had her memory thrown in his face as he’d only just opened his eyes that morning.

You supposed they really _did_ still make men like this, then.

He did not reveal too much about himself to you, and indeed, he did not stay for very long: He actually did have to pick up his kids. However, on his way out your door, he left you with both his cell phone number, and a gift in the form of a very unexpected kiss. It was nervous and a bit hesitant, but it was kind, and he offered it freely. You returned it gratefully, but noted a certain stiffness in his body language. No wonder he’d had to go out drinking to try to quell his loneliness: 

He must have missed his wife too much to do it sober.

As he walked off down your hallway, fresh guilt at the way you’d spoken to him earlier overtook you for a moment. It was quickly tempered, however, by a swell of appreciation for the inner strength he’d demonstrated— both in coming home with you to begin with, and in staying to explain himself when you had mistakenly thought he was lying to you. It wasn’t just his body, you realized, that was strong.

You thought about this, and about the phone number he’d given you. You wondered why he had shared it, if he wasn’t ready for this.

 _Maybe he’s trying to be ready,_ you considered, as you attached his name to the string of digits he’d entered into your phone, and poured another coffee.

 _Are you okay with that?_ , you asked yourself, before thinking about his kind, elegant smile and deciding that, yes— you were okay with it. 

Anakin, it seemed, was special. You didn’t know how, exactly, and you certainly didn’t know him well enough to begin to discern it yet. Between his kindness, his clear strength of character, and his torturously obvious outer beauty, however, you knew that it was worth seeing him again— even if he was only just beginning to be ready to show himself to anyone else.

Now— in stark contrast to when you’d found it— you thought his wedding ring was lovely, along with the fact that he still wore it on his hand. It was an expression of honesty; of love.

As you happily recalled your evening with him given this new context, you hoped you would soon get an opportunity to both enjoy his company again, and make up for wrongly assuming the opposite of the truth.

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a New Year’s gift.
> 
> This is that gift.
> 
> I like it lol
> 
> 💕
> 
> K back to my longfics now. :D


End file.
